in the hook of their arms. "Here's where you belong. I'm a constable of
this town. I arrest you."

The young man halted. His smile became provokingly compassionate as he
stared down at the nickel badge the farmer was tapping.

"So you represent the law, do you?" inquired Farr.

"I do."

"It's too bad you don't know more about the law, then. I have neither
solicited alms, trespassed on private property, begged food, nor
committed crime in your little kingdom, my good and great three-tailed
bashaw. Here is a coin to clear the law." He exhibited a silver piece.
"I am sorry I cannot remain here and help you mend your ways--they seem
to need it!"

He went on past the sullen gang of pick and shovel, treading the middle
of the broad turnpike.

"Ain't that a tramp?" asked one of the guards.

"I don't know what he is," confessed the farmer.

The man who called himself Farr turned a corner and came upon the same
automobile which had overtaken and passed him, contemptuously kicking
its dust over him, a few minutes before he arrived at the farmer's
fence.

A rear tire was flat and a young man who was smartly attired in gray